


whatever we'll be

by friarlucas



Series: girl meets hogwarts [2]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, Ya welcome, charlie honestly deserves the best, maya bein a true baller and homie we love that, yes this is 2 years overdue yes im finally delivering on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 12:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friarlucas/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Following his fall from his broom during the 4th year championship Quidditch match, debates over whether the match is forfeited and whether a comatose Lucas Friar is going to be transferred to St. Mungo's run rampant. Riley doesn't care about any of that while she's vigil at his bedside -- all she cares about is that he'll be okay, and that he comes back to her eventually.





	whatever we'll be

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ficmas, day 3! One of my first ever GMW fics was a HP AU one shot known as "Maya Hart Dropped the Quaffle," in which Lucas fell off his broom during an intense championship match. Then, I left him waiting on the muddy pitch with no resolution for about two years. Sorry bud.
> 
> Now, this Ficmas brings us the second half of this HP nugget I put the oven so long ago. Cheers! Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts, teach us something please...

Everything is a blur. It’s a blur of black and gold as Riley pushes her way through her classmates and down the stands, forgoing her standard politeness for the sake of speed. Desperate to get down to the pitch, thinking of nothing else as she takes the stairs three at time and tries to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest.

She has to get to the pitch.

Riley has personally never cared much for Quidditch as a hobby—she’s rarely cared much for any sport magical or muggle, and the flying spectator sport is decidedly at the bottom of her list. Sure, she attends the games to support her classmates on the Hufflepuff team and she’s always loved seeing the joy on her friends’ faces when they make a particularly good play or score the winning goal. She’s as proud as anybody else that Maya might very well be the most talented Gryffindor Chaser in decades, and she’d never be the one to tell her fiery friend to tone down the aggression during matches or wear an additional pad or helmet or any conceivable form of safety gear imaginable.

But she’s also spent too many afternoons when they were children biting her nails, terrified that the next time her best friend slipped off her broom and hit the grass would result in far worse injury than a bruise or two. She’s spent enough hours in the hospital wing with Charlie in the last year, getting scuffs treated that he assures her are no big deal even though they happen too often for her comfort. She’s spent enough sleepless nights before a major match fretting over every worst case scenario, visualizing far worse injuries from far more threatening heights that could potentially befall her most cherished people all because they want to play the most dangerous game in the advent of magical athletics.

Now that she’s literally seen it happen, she doesn’t think she’s ever going to sleep again.

She has to get to the pitch. She has to get to him.

Riley thought he seemed distracted. She had admittedly been watching him throughout the match, internally cringing every time a Bludger got too close or he made a risky dive. Of all the positions in Quidditch she resents Beater the most, hating the inherent violence behind the role and unnecessarily large amounts of risk it adds to game and all the players involved.

But she also knows him—knows his own colorful history and the amount of internalized violence he’s seemed to be dancing with all his life—so of course that’s the position he’d be brought on to play. Naturally, when he gets picked third year to join the team, Gryffindor captain Jasmine Gonzalez praises his ferocity and his determination and his ability to channel all that frustration into killer plays that help win them a championship. Because that’s all anyone seems to value in him, or so he’s told her in hushed, late night conversations in the library when both of them are being pointedly more vulnerable than they’d ever be in the light of day or with anybody else.

But it helps him feel worthwhile—it makes him feel seen—so he takes the position with pride and plays every game like it’s going to be his last. That’s the kind of person he is, both on and off the pitch.

She wishes he knew how much she values everything else about him, so many little things she can’t put into words. She wishes he could see that he is seen, that she sees him, so he could’ve never stepped onto the field and gotten himself into this mess.

When she breaks through the Hufflepuff team room and onto the field, she’s amazed to discover she’s the first one to arrive on the scene. Most of the players are still circling the air, only just beginning their descent as Riley is already well on her way across the turf.

She spots his broom first, having veered in another direction once he abandoned it midair. It’s sticking out of the ground, splintered in several places and certainly never going to fly again. Even if he manages to get out of this still mobile, she knows he doesn’t have the money to afford a new one. If his broom is any indication of the state she may find him in, she can’t stomach the thought of what she might have to see when she reaches him.

Then she spots him, a heap of cardinal and gold lying motionless a few feet away.

“Lucas.” His name comes out choked, somewhere between a cough and a gasp. Then she’s running, sprinting across the turf to get to his side. “Lucas! Lucas!”

By the time she drops to her knees next to him, the rest of the world seems to catch up. She can hear the footfalls of other Quidditch players as they descend to assess the situation, brooms hitting the turf with pointed thuds.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything else, only that he’s okay.

Riley forgets all her common sense as she reaches out to grab his shoulder, pulling him towards her and flipping him onto his back. He’s admittedly far less damaged than she anticipated, considering the sheer distance he fell. But the dirt and blood smearing his face and the bruises that are already forming on the areas of skin exposed by the way his uniform shifted upon landing aren’t making her feel optimistic, and he’s so pale. For a person so traditionally tanned golden and full of life, he’s remarkably dull. He’s dull, immobile and heavy in her arms.

“Is he okay?” The shout comes from feet away and then in the next second Maya is joining her. She isn’t sure she’s ever seen her best friend look so concerned, at least for someone outside the two of them. “Oh my God, is he breathing? Holy—,”

She honestly can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. He’s so perfectly still, chillingly uncharacteristic for the boy who can’t ever seem to stop fidgeting.

Riley can feel the crowd beginning to thicken around them, players and spectators alike converging from the stands. She wishes they would back off. She wants them to leave him alone. She wants him to be okay and she wants to be with him and she wants everyone else to disappear.

“Out of my way,” a gruff, authoritative voice commands. The sea of students parts as Madam Hooch storms towards them, moving with more urgency than Riley has ever seen her use in a standard flying lesson. “Out of the way, move! Now!”

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand touch her back. It’s Charlie, goggles pushed back out of his face and looking at her with concern.

Hooch finally makes it to them, Cory sprinting to catch up behind her and pushing his way through the crowd with about as much ferocity as Riley earlier. When Madam Hooch sees that she’s moved him, a bout of fury flashes through her features.

“Miss Matthews, are you out of your mind?” she snaps, crouching down next to her. She continues to berate her without paying her any actual attention, solely focused on the broken boy half-sprawled on her lap. “You should _never_ move an injured player before the damage has been assessed.”

Riley can’t remember how to use words. Her voice comes out shaky. “I know. I’m sorry—,”

“What if the bones had been broken? Do you know how much worse you could’ve made the injuries? Do you realize you could’ve made things horrifically worse?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. She can’t even process what’s going on. Her fingers are still holding onto Lucas, twisting the fabric of his uniform anxiously.

“ _Are_ they broken?” Maya interjects, getting the conversation back on track. She stares at Madam Hooch, obviously not sure she wants to hear the prognosis or not.

“No, his physical body should be intact. Someone seems to have cast a slowing enchantment which helped break the fall,” Cory explains, breathlessly coming to stand with them. He glances down at Lucas, looking a little sick. Riley can imagine how disturbing it must be to see one of your favorite students in such a precarious predicament—about a fraction of how sickening it feels to see it happening to one of your best friends. “Risky business, though. The kind of effects that can have on the mind—,”

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Madam Hooch presses her lips into a thin line, brushing some hair from Lucas’s forehead before rising to her feet. In an instant she’s back in command mode, all tenderness gone as she begins to bark directions.

“I do hope someone has already gone to fetch Madam Pomfrey. I want everyone else to clear the field. This match is cancelled!”

A chorus of groans echoes from the assembled crowd. Riley feels another sting of resentment, unable to believe that some of her classmates care more about the outcome of a stupid match than the well-being of one of their fellow students.

One of the Chasers on her team, Wyatt Livingston, pipes up. “But that’s not how the game works! If a team taps out because one player falls off their broom—,”

“Yeah, what about the World Cup from ’78?” another student chimes in. “When two players totally bit it but they kept playing until they caught the Snitch. Wouldn’t that mean a forfeit—,”

Jasmine steps in, fire burning in her eyes. “There’s no forfeiting going on! What’s going on is our teammate is unconscious, so you can take your complaints and you can shove them right up your—,”

“Enough!” Hooch declares, putting her whistle to her lips and blowing three harsh, grating blows into the air. The remaining assembly grimaces, a few covering their ears. “The conclusion of this match is undetermined until further notice. Everyone disband, _now_!”

Her voice booms across the pitch, demonstrating an impressive amount of projection. Students begin splitting up immediately, clearing the way for help to arrive.

“Unbelievable,” Wyatt mutters, marching off with a majority of the Hufflepuff team.

The Gryffindor team remains huddled around their fallen teammate, Zay and Smackle finally making their way through the dispersing crowd to join them. Zay drops down right next to Maya, so stunned that he can’t seem to speak. Maya wraps an arm around his shoulders, comforting in a moment when so much seems uncertain.

When Madam Pomfrey arrives with a couple of older students to help transport Lucas to the hospital wing, Gryffindor players are more than happy to offer another hand. Charlie asks Riley if she wants him to stay, but she assures him that he might as well go and give the team a pep talk. Not that she thinks they’re the ones who need consoling, but it’s all she can do not to think even worse of her classmates and besides, all she cares about is staying with Lucas. It’s all she can focus on, so she’s certain she won’t be much fun to be around.

The entire crew of them follows him to the infirmary, his more bullish teammates getting into heated debate with Madam Pomfrey when she explains to them that there’s absolutely no way she can let them all in at once, especially when they haven’t even properly examined his condition. She turns them all away and promises them they’ll know as soon as he’s able to have visitors, the hallway clearing out until it’s only Riley, Maya, and Zay remaining outside the doors.

Madam Pomfrey gives them an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, dears. But this is policy. You’ll have to come back once we’ve given him a full assessment.”

“What does that even mean?” Maya snarls. Although such a harsh tone towards a faculty member tests Riley nerves, she’s grateful she’s speaking for the both of them. She’s totally out of words, and although she’s managed to keep herself together this long she can feel the panic beginning to take grip of her heart and work its way through her veins like ice.

Zay chimes in, indignant. “We’re his best friends, we have the right to see him. How can you not know from looking at him whether or not he’s okay?”

“Quidditch can cause injuries that are not immediately visible to the eye,” Pomfrey states calmly. Then worry crosses her features. “Not to mention the spell that was cast to cushion his fall. It undoubtedly saved his life, but enchantments like that can have side effects. It’s going to take some time to see how it may affect him.”

“Please,” Riley pleads, vision blurring with tears. She locks eyes with the nurse, feeling a couple slip down her cheeks. “Please, I have to know he’s okay.”

Her expression is sympathetic, entirely genuine. But the plaintive head shake she offers as she begins to back through the hospital wing doors feels as comforting as a slap across the face. “I’m sorry, Riley. I’ll send an owl as soon as he can have visitors.”

“Madam Pomfrey, please,” she croaks again, but it’s no use.

Pomfrey shuts the hospital wing doors behind her, locking them out and permanently separating her from Lucas for the time being. Possibly forever, depending on what his condition turns out to be. Taking her away from him without so much as a goodbye.

Riley shakes her head frantically and walks up to the door, knocking hysterically and begging for her to let them in until Maya pulls her away. She collapses into her best friend, allowing her to pull her into a hug and losing her cool entirely.

The three of them stand in the hallway for a long moment, absorbing the shock as Riley’s sobs fill the empty corridor. Feeling the absence of their usual fourth companion, just out of reach on the other side of the door.

* * *

It’s two days before she receives Madam Pomfrey’s owl. Two days of floating through her routine in a haze, mind numb and decidedly unfocused.

Slughorn gives her a redo on her disaster of a potion that week, allowing her a do over on the precedent of playing favorites but also clearly sensing her emotional state. Numerous classmates approach her to check if she’s alright, and she has to resist the urge to direct them in the direction of the infirmary to ask that question to the boy who actually deserves to have people checking up on him.

No matter where she is, whether she’s comfortably huddled in the confines of her dormitory or in the chaos of the great hall or deep down in the potions classroom, her mind and heart are stuck in the hospital wing with him. Guaranteeing a permanent vacation until she’s able to rejoin them at his side.

When she receives the owl, she’s at the hospital wing within minutes. Still half in her pajamas, hair undone, she stumbles into the infirmary searching for him without a second wasted. Madam Pomfrey seems far from surprised, greeting her with a gentle smile and guiding her towards his cot in the back corner of the wing.

It’s disarming to see him appear so peaceful. Maybe partially because she feels like his expressions are always so intense regardless of the emotion they’re conveying, but also because she feels so completely in disarray. She’s falling apart at the seams over his condition and he’s simply resting, content to remain just a handhold away from her for the unforeseeable future.

A few fractures in his forearm. A sprained elbow, appropriately wrapped and laying carefully against his torso. A few minor bruises and scrapes that will heal in no time. And then the coma, rendered upon him in a desperate attempt to save him from a much more brutal fate but potentially stranding him inside his own head for an indeterminate amount of time. No way to know if he’ll come out of it or not.

Madam Pomfrey claims she’s optimistic, considering a multitude of factors and statistics she rattles off that Riley doesn’t understand. But no guarantee means no answers, and all Riley can see when she looks at the boy who was growing into quite possibly her favorite person is the reality that he might never wake up. He might always be just out of her reach, a million miles away in the one place she can never conceivably follow.

Either way, she knows she’s going to be there by his side when the time comes. Whether he comes back around or they take him away, she’s going to be with him until the end. So she gathers a bag and essentially stakes out the hospital wing full time, planted in the chair next to him from the moment the hospital wing opens each morning until Madam Pomfrey requests for her to depart each night.

She spends her afternoon sustaining herself off of magical sweets and greeting fellow visitors in between coursework. Zay, Smackle, and Maya make an effort to stop by once a day, and Jasmine is in more than a couple times hoping for good news. The rest of his team floats in and out now and again. Hagrid makes a point of visiting every couple of days, bringing Lucas an assortment of poorly baked but well-intentioned treats.

“Think he’ll really enjoy this one when he comes around,” he says, dropping what sounds like a brick on the small tray table at the foot of his bed. “Let’s hope it’s soon, yeah?”

Although she knows not everyone has the fortitude or obnoxious level of determination to rebuild their entire schedule around sitting vigil at bedside, Riley has to admit to herself she’s a little bit surprised that Maya isn’t around as often. She knows they’re friends and she comes around a perfectly normal amount for that, but seeing as they did go to the Yule Ball together she thought Maya would be a rather consistent companion with her inside the walls of the hospital wing.

It’s what she’s thinking about as she’s munching on a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean and trying to work her way through a rather difficult Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. Lucas isn’t helping, consistently diverting her attention from her parchment to gaze at him.

She supposes he’s always been a horrible study partner—constantly distracting her or scribbling stupid messages into the margins of her notes or purposefully tickling her with the feather of his quill and sending her into giggles that get both of them shushed by the librarian. Even out of consciousness, he’s remaining unabashedly in character.

She isn’t sure why she can’t stop looking at him. Perhaps because she’s impatiently waiting for the moment he stirs, waking up and coming back to her in the blink of an eye. Perhaps because it’s so odd to see him so at ease, expression soft and breathing even as he rests beside her. Or perhaps it’s because she always seems to be looking at him, eyes finding him in any room at any time like magnetism.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she does an awful lot of staring.

“It’s official, Yancy is the absolute worst,” Maya huffs, shattering the serene calm of the wing as she marches in from a long evening of Quidditch practice. Her book bag thumps against the handle of her broomstick as she walks. “Twenty points from Gryffindor because I was running in the hallway and tracking dirt through the corridors. Sorry this castle has no welcome mats. Quidditch practice is outside, what does he want from me?”

The resounding slam that both objects make as they hit the floor by Lucas’s bedside is enough to catch the attention of Madam Pomfrey. She pokes her head out of her office like an owl, relaxing slightly when she sees the source of the hubbub.

“Oh, Miss Hart. It’s only you.”

“Lovely evening to you too, Poppy,” Maya says, offering a salute before snagging a candy from the growing pile on Lucas’s tray table and collapsing into the chair on his opposite side. She eyes him, taking a bite of the sweet before shifting her gaze to Riley. “Anything?”

Mustering a weak smile, Riley shakes her head. Always delivering the same news, despite how much everyone seems to be willing the answer to change.

Maya exhales, slouching further in her seat with a frown. She examines Lucas for a long moment, chewing her lip. “You know, it’s just like him to be so dramatic. Making everyone wait for his grand return, and all that.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “Oh, sure.”

“I’m serious. I know he comes off all soft-spoken and sweet, but you would not believe how internally dramatic he is. You’d get it if you saw how he is in the common room sometimes. Maybe it’s a late night thing, I don’t know.”

Riley feels her nerves bristle, a bit perturbed by the reminder that there’s so much she misses between her best friends when they go off to their own common areas each evening. All the moments she’s missing just because she’s not bold or brave enough to be a Gryffindor, or whatever it is.

Or maybe, she’s a little miffed that Maya clearly seems to know so much more about their beloved friend than she does. She has to admit that her attitude towards the sentiment is a little green.

“Come on, Huckleberry,” Maya prompts, leaning forward and nudging his side. She jostles him playfully. “Get up, already!”

Riley frowns, slapping her hand away protectively. “Hey, be gentle.”

She backs off accordingly, raising her eyebrows at the intensity of Riley’s response. She raises her hands in surrender before crossing her arms over her chest, propping her feet up on the side of his cot and making herself smaller. “Jeez, Riles, no need to get so worked up. It’s not like I’m gonna give him another fracture from poking him in the ribs.”

She knows she’s right. She’s overreacting. But she doesn’t feel like justifying herself right now.

Instead, she shrugs, turning her gaze back to her parchment. “I just think we should be careful with him, that’s all. If we cared about him, we’d treat him with more respect. Even when he’s not conscious.”

“Okay,” Maya says with an exhale, shifting upright. She props her elbows on her knees, leaning forward and waiting for Riley to meet her eyes. “What the hell is going on with you? What’s the problem, honey?”

Riley blinks at her, glancing at their incapacitated friend. “What’s the problem?”

“I mean, aside from the obvious,” she clarifies, rolling her eyes. “You have been snippy for weeks, basically since we got back for spring term. Long before this added a whole other layer of issues.”

“That is not true.”

“Two weeks ago you literally got up and left dinner because I tugged Huckleberry’s sweater and called him a dork for the five hundredth time since I’ve met him.” Maya raises an eyebrow, leaning back and nodding indicatively. “You gonna tell me that’s normal behavior?”

Riley knows the exact night she’s talking about. She doesn’t know why she got up and left—she’s been used to Lucas and Maya’s banter and teasing dynamic basically since they all met first year, and it’s never bothered her before.

But suddenly, following the Yule Ball and how weird everything had gotten between the two of them, it just seemed like rubbing it in her face. How comfortable Maya and Lucas could continue to be when she couldn’t even carry a conversation with him that didn’t seem burdened by whatever was shifting around in their friendship she couldn’t pinpoint.

All of that seems like far too much to explain, let alone if she could even figure out how to articulate it. So she offers another slight shrug, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, fine. Forget all that. Let’s talk about the last few days. Every time I come to visit, you get all clammy and irritable. Which I get it, emotions are running high right now, but you’re not like that in class. It’s only when we’re here, with him, that you seem to turn up the salt. So what’s up with that?”

She doesn’t know how to say it. She doesn’t know how to explain all the things she’s been feeling, how being here with him just seems to jumble up her emotions even more. All she knows is she feels like she’s spending all her time here desperate for him to wake up, not knowing how she’s going to keep going if he doesn’t, and it seems like Maya couldn’t care less.

“I just think someone as close to him as you should be around more, that’s all.”

Maya’s brow furrows, obviously confused. She holds her arms out, tilting her chair onto its back legs. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes. I just mean… considering the relationship you two have, I thought you’d be around more often. Or that you’d, I don’t know—,”

“I’m here just as much as Zay or Smackle,” Maya defends herself. She shakes her head, totally lost as to where Riley’s annoyance is stemming from.  “I don’t know what else you’re expecting me to do. Cry? Read him poetry?”

Riley clears her throat, not appreciating the mocking tone. “You don’t have to get mean.”

“I’m not being mean, Riles. You’re not making any sense. I feel like you’re expecting me to handle the situation exactly as you are, but that’s not how stuff like this works. Of course I’m worried about him, but it’s not like if I ask him to he’ll just wake up. I’m not holding my breath.”

“I just think, considering how I’m certainly managing the time to be here as much as possible, his girlfriend could put in the same effort.”

The wing goes silent. Maya blinks at her, betraying nothing as tension builds between them like a tidal wave. Riley immediately regrets opening her mouth, wishing she could disappear behind her parchment and disappear into the lines of her essay on werewolf transformation.

“I’m sorry, his _what_?” Maya’s giddy with laughter, but there’s a layer of exasperation to the exclamation that makes it clear she’s pushing her best friend’s buttons. “You think I’m his what?”

Riley resents being talked down to so clearly. She sits up straighter, speaking confidently as to not be belittled. “You don’t have to spare my feelings or whatever you guys are doing. I’m fine. I don’t care. But seeing as you’re always together and you went to the Yule Ball together—,”

“Oh my God, we’re always together because we’re in the same house and we’re _friends_ ,” Maya spits. “I’m not with Huckleberry. We’re not _together_. Please, suggest anything more disturbing.”

“But the Yule Ball—,”

“Is that supposed to mean anything? We went with each other because we had no one else to go with. It’s not that deep. You went with Charlie, are you two dating?”

Riley opens her mouth, only to find no words come out. The fact of the matter is, she knows many people have been wondering that exact question, including Charlie himself. She’s been avoiding the decision, not wanting to reject him but not exactly keen on dating him either. She loves having him as a classmate and friend, and she thinks he made a wonderful date to such an important Hogwarts tradition. Any girl would be lucky to have Charlie Gardner for a boyfriend.

But she knows that’s not what she wants. What she wants, she isn’t sure, but she knows it’s not Charlie regardless of how wonderful he is. Her feelings for him have never been romantic. It’s her fear of hurting his feelings that’s keeping all of them in the dark.

Maya scoffs, grabbing her bag and beginning to gather her things. “Actually, the _real_ reason Ranger Rick and I went together is because we couldn’t go with the people we wanted to because they had other plans. So to put it frankly, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m at best his second choice.”

Riley feels the blush of shame crawling up her cheeks. She didn’t mean for this to become a big mess, or to accuse her best friend of being so coldhearted. She knows Maya copes differently than she does and she knows she cares about her friends, including Lucas. Her emotions just got the better of her, as they seem to be doing a lot lately.

“Maya, I’m sorry—,”

“Can I give you a tip, honey?” She rises to her feet and swings her bag over her shoulder, swiveling to face her again. Although it’s clear she’s angry, she can tell that the intention behind her words isn’t hurtful. Whatever she’s about to say, she’s saying it because she cares. “Maybe you should stop examining what you think I should be doing, and start examining yourself. Starting with why you care so much that Sundance and I went together in the first place.”

Riley swallows, unable to look at her any longer. She dips her head down, twirling her quill anxiously between her fingertips.

Maya sighs, her tone softening. She thinks of saying something but thinks better of it, not sure what she could say to make the situation better. If Riley has a lot of things to figure out, she has to do it on her own. No amount of encouragement is going to get her to admit the truth until she’s ready.

“Let me know if anything happens,” Maya requests, casting one more glance towards Lucas before making her way out of the wing.

Riley watches her go, keeping her head down until her best friend closes the infirmary door behind her. Then she exhales a long sigh, slouching further in her seat and letting her gaze drift towards him again.

Too much to figure out. Too much to think about. Too much to ask for when all she wants is for him to be okay.

* * *

Two more days. No news. For how often her father tells her that no news is good news, she’s starting to seriously resent it.

For as much as Riley would like to stay in the hospital wing every hour of the day, she does still have classes to attend so she doesn’t let her own academics take a serious hit. It seems pointless considering her brain is absolutely useless and can only focus on one thing, but then in some ways she appreciates the normalcy it provides her. A sense of routine, a distraction even if it’s mostly ineffective.

Besides, ever since her conversation with Maya, sitting vigil as Lucas’s bedside has taken on a different meaning to her. She’s grateful she and her best friend were able to talk it out and that she forgave her, but she can’t forget the insinuations she made and now the other predicament eating up her mental sanity when she’s impatiently waiting for him to wake up is wondering why she cares so damn much in the first place.

Of course, she knows she would care deeply if any of her friends ended up in this situation. Even still, without Maya having to spell it out for her she knows this is the worst case scenario. When it comes down to it, Lucas is the one she cares about the most.

Naturally, that means it has to hurt the most too.

When her father wraps a particularly boring lecture in History of Magic and her Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff classmates make a beeline for the door, Riley takes her time gathering her things. She’s not in any rush except to get back to the hospital wing. She knows Lucas isn’t exactly waiting with bated breath for her arrival.

Cory approaches her desk, tapping her on the top of the head affectionately to get her attention. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“The same,” she says, managing what she knows is a weak smile. It seems that so long as Lucas’s condition remains unchanged, so does her mood.

Cory frowns, obviously wishing he could remedy the situation. If the solution were as simple as waving his wand and making it so, she knows he’d do it in a heartbeat like any good father.

But not every problem has a simple, achievable solution. Even for the best teacher and father she knows.

“Are you going to visit him now?” he asks, already knowing the answer. When she nods, he gestures her to follow him with a nod. “Come on, I’ll give you some copies to give him so he doesn’t fall too behind.”

“Dad, we don’t even know if he’s going to—,” Riley cuts herself off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Because if she says it out loud, it feels like speaking it into existence, so it’s easier to just cover her ears and keep her mouth shut. Denial for as long as she can possibly manage it. “When he wakes up, I doubt his first concern is going to be History of Magic.”

“Well, just in case.”

Riley makes her way over to the front of the classroom, pausing by his desk as he gathers papers from the last couple of lectures. As he shuffles things around on his desk, he moves a pile of essays from his Gryffindor class towards the edge. The one underneath the top catches her eye, the familiar scrawl jumping out at her and demanding her attention.

Gently, she tugs the parchment out from the pile to get a better look at it.

_Lucas Friar. History of Magic. Formation of the Ministry…_

It’s surreal to see his handwriting, to hold work he just recently turned in at her fingertips and remember that he exists outside the hospital wing. As encompassing as it’s been in the last week, there was a time before the accident, and time will inevitably march on without them regardless of what happens to him when all is said and done.

“Has Madam Pomfrey said anything new?” Cory asks, snapping her out of her trance. She pushes his paper back with the rest, tearing her eyes from it and clearing her throat.

She shakes her head. “Just more about the spell and it’s possible consequences. How even though it saved it his life, it’s unclear to know how it’s affecting his consciousness, or whatever.”

“Believe me, I know the risks.”

“I don’t, really,” Riley huffs, keeping her head down so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. She doesn’t want to be any more dramatic than she feels she already has been, but she’s so sick of how uncertain and confusing everything about the situation is. How nobody seems to have any answers, even the people who are supposed to understand it. “I don’t get how something that was meant to save his life can have such disastrous consequences. Madam Pomfrey is always muttering under her breath about how the caster should’ve been more thoughtful, or seriously considered the risks—,”

“I did consider them.”

Riley hesitates, lifting her gaze to lock eyes with him. She feels her heart catch in her throat.

Cory glances at her, then averts his eyes. He focuses on finishing collecting the necessary papers for Lucas, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “I know the risks of the spell. Doing that kind of magic, especially in such a high-stakes situation… there are risks. But there was no time to think. It was cast the spell that I thought could potentially soften the blow, or do nothing and watch one of my students fall to his death.”

“It was you. You cast the slowing charm.”

Cory sighs, closing his eyes and reigning in his emotions. Having a difficult time keeping them together, as everyone seems to be these days.

“I’m sorry that it’s unfolding this way. I’m sorry that there’s not more I can do.” He eyes her tentatively, obviously expecting her to be upset with him. “I’m—,”

Riley interrupts his apology, coming around the side of the desk and barreling him with a hug. She feels tears prick the corners of her ears, screwing her eyes shut and inhaling a deep breath as the reality of the situation really sinks in.

It was her father who cast the charm. It was her father who ultimately saved her favorite person’s life, regardless of what happens next.

“Thank you,” she whimpers. She tightens the embrace, hoping it translates how grateful she is.

After a moment, Cory wraps his arms around her and returns the hug. Considering how much effort she’s being exerting to keep herself upright, it’s nice to remember that she’s not alone. That she has people who will share in the burden, and hold her up when she’s feeling too weak to do it on her own.

“Any time.”

* * *

As Lucas’s time in comatose stretches into a week, Riley starts to feel tied to the hospital wing. Although she’s always there by choice, the hopelessness of an unchanging status quo is starting to take an emotional toll. She finds herself wondering how many more days she’ll be spending in this same chair by this same bedside, if there’s a limit for how long he can stay. If days will stretch into weeks, then years.

She can’t stomach the thought of leaving Hogwarts in their seventh year, coming back to this hospital wing to visit the boy who is never going to graduate with them. The piece of her heart that’s trapped in his head with him, wherever exactly that is.

Farkle assures her that such a possibility is far from logical, whether or not he wakes up. Even if he never does, they’ll remove him from Hogwarts before too long and likely send him somewhere for safekeeping, like St. Mungo’s. The thought doesn’t bring her much additional peace.

In all honestly, it’s more surprising to her that Farkle shows up to visit at all. He comes more than a couple times in the span of the week, always bringing along a convenient excuse like homework from potions or a snack for Riley from the Great Hall. He’s definitely not there to see if Lucas’s condition has improved—they’re rivals, after all. He’d never do such a thing.

When Riley points out that Zay already brought his potions coursework the fourth time he comes by, Farkle waves her off.

“Well, best he not fall too far behind,” he sputters, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. “I brought some of my notes for him to study by if he needs them.” He pauses, remembering he’s supposed to have something snarky to say. “When he comes around, he can owe me one.”

It’s announced that first Saturday after the accident that due to the circumstances, Gryffindor team does in fact forfeit the match, giving Hufflepuff the championship. Her classmates are overjoyed, celebrating their first championship win in over ten years.

Maya is practically foaming at the mouth about it, coming to vent in the hospital wing. Not for her, Riley knows, but because Lucas is the exact person she would be having this conversation with if he were conscious. That he would be ranting and grumbling right alongside her, bonding over one of the few things they can seem to agree on were he not the reason they had to forfeit in the first place.

Jasmine comes by as well to talk in hushed whispers with Madam Pomfrey, obviously assessing his condition and curious as to if there’s any update on his prognosis. If he’ll be better soon, and if it’s looking like he’ll be able to play come the new season in the fall. Riley bites her tongue and tries to block out the noise, disgusted at how concerned people seem with a stupid game over the well-being of her favorite person.

In some ways, she figures its best that he’s out of commission while all of this is occurring. The moment he finds out that they had to forfeit the championship match because of him, she knows he’s never going to forgive himself.

Anyway, she hates Quidditch. She hates it, she hates it, she hates it.

In spite of all of the cheering and rejoicing the Hufflepuff house gets to do throughout the weekend over their victory, Riley spends all of it cooped up in the hospital wing. Thankful for the quiet, happy to be spending her time with her friend rather than in the overwhelming mess the common room is bound to be for the next few hours.

As it stands, she’s found ways to make the scenario enjoyable. She finds herself starting conversations with him, still feeling some of the catharsis she’s always felt talking to him even though he’s not exactly able to respond. She tells him all about how the week is going, works through homework assignments with him, keeps him up to date on all the latest gossip. Not that she very well knows much of it herself, but it’s nice to pretend he’s listening. It’s nice to pretend, even for a moment, that he’s perfectly fine and everything is normal.

Somehow, Charlie manages to escape the parades of praise he’s sure to be receiving in the common room to pay a visit to the hospital wing. He comes by late that night when most of the other students are bound to be gone, Riley the only friend still dedicated—or desperate, maybe—enough to hang around. She’s just finishing up telling Lucas about their current assignment in Divination and the odd dream Farkle’s been trying to pick apart with limited success when he comes through the door, spotting them in the back of the wing and jogging his way over.

“Charlie,” Riley says blankly, honestly shocked to see him. “What are you doing here?”

He offers her a smile, perfectly charming as always. “Thought I’d come by to see how you were doing. Both of you,” he says offhandedly, nodding to Lucas. He points to the chair opposite her, a little out of breath. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” she says cordially, gesturing for him to sit. He does, collapsing into it and taking a moment to collect himself.

Absorbing the sanctity of the quiet, much in the same way she does.

“Hectic in the common room, I’m guessing.”

Charlie shrugs, clasping his hands together on his lap. “Everyone’s excited. That’s always fun. Especially since it’s been ten years—I mean, first championship since we started here. That’s amazing. But yeah, a bit overwhelming.”

He pauses, glancing towards the boy lying unconscious between them. He swallows, frowning lightly.

“Wish it were under better circumstances,” he admits.

Riley nods. Grateful he said what she’s been thinking since the match was cancelled a week ago.

“I wanted to tell you, actually,” he says, unable to hold back the proud beam that’s creeping onto his face. He’s practically bouncing in his seat, excitement clear from his tone. “I just found out they’ve pinned me to be captain next year when Meyer graduates. Like, he wants me to take on the team. He just told me like fifteen minutes ago.”

Although she doesn’t feel particularly moved either way, she manages a smile. Happy that he’s so happy, that he’s earning some of the recognition he most certainly deserves considering how hard he works to be a model student for their house. “That’s amazing, Charlie. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I know you don’t care much about Quidditch, but I don’t know. I just really wanted to tell you.”

He’s truly so sweet. He’s so sweet, and wonderfully genuine, and Riley is so incredibly fond of him. He’s a dear friend, one she feels lucky to have met through her placement by the Sorting Hat nearly four years ago.

“Speaking of next year,” he says, less confident than moments ago. He locks his fingers together, knee bouncing anxiously as he locks eyes with her. “I was thinking maybe we should talk. About… about what we’re going to be, exactly.”

Instinctively, Riley glances to Lucas before clearing her throat. She smiles apologetically. “Charlie, I don’t know if this is really the best time—,”

“It never is,” Charlie points out, knowing all too well how deftly Riley has avoided any decision-making on their potential relationship status. “There’s never going to be a good time. So I’d rather just clear the air, here and now, rather than continue to drag this on any longer. Can we just do that? Can we be honest with each other, please?”

For how dreadful the situation feels, she can see in his eyes that he’s not upset with her. Far from it. He’s simply asking for exactly what he requested—honesty. He wants to clear the air and figure out where they stand before he gets ready to march into fifth year.

Riley hesitates, composing her thoughts and choosing her words carefully. Not wanting to say anything that may come off harsher than she intends. “You are an amazing friend, Charlie. Like, I’m so glad we got to meet and become friends. You’re wonderful, and charming, and gifted in a whole number of fields.”

He blushes, brushing some hair from his forehead. “I don’t know about that.”

“You are. All of those things, and more. Modest, too, which I love about you.”

A hushed silence passes as Riley pauses, collecting her thoughts and reluctant to turn this conversation into anything deeper than what it is currently. But then she glances to Lucas again, ruminates all the thinking she’s done the past week. Knowing that if he were in her situation, as brave as he is, he’d face the situation head on. Knowing, deep in her heart, that she owes this conversation to him too.

“But I don’t think… I’m not sure I care about you the way you’d like me to. Or frankly, the way you deserve.” She can see the glimmer of disappointment flash through his features, followed by resignation. Like he knew it was coming, but the blow still stings regardless. “It’s not that I don’t care about you. I do. I love you, just—,”

“Just not enough,” Charlie fills in for her, avoiding her eyes and keeping his gaze on the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

Riley bites the inside of her cheek, not wanting to say anything to make it worse. “I don’t know why. I should like you. If I were smart, I definitely would.”

“Maybe,” Charlie laughs, smiling to himself. He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But then, I’m not the one you’re sitting vigil at bedside for, huh?”

She doesn’t understand how he could possibly make such a bold reading of her, particularly one that’s so pointedly accurate. They’re friends and all, but they’ve never discussed her friendship with Lucas. She doesn’t see how everyone can seem to have her dynamic with him all figured out when she feels as though she doesn’t even understand it herself.

Maybe she’s simply been taking it for granted, the simplicity and ease with which she and Lucas fit together in the context of her life. Everyone else has been looking at it and formulating explanations for the last four years, and she’s just now starting to take a second look.

“It’s fine,” Charlie exhales, more to himself than her. He manages a smile, rising to his feet. “Thanks for being honest with me, Riley. And being… well, whatever you were to me. And whatever we’ll be now.”

She truly is so lucky to have him. He’s being so kind about all of this, so understanding, which she knows is a rare breed. She gives him a smile, one of the most genuine ones she’s mustered all week.

He casts one more glance at Lucas, expression shifting into something a bit more subdued. He swallows, tilting his head and looking to her again. “When he wakes up, you let me know, yeah?”

She smiles wider, nodding in agreement. Charlie nods back before spinning on his heel, swinging his arms as he awkwardly heads out of the wing and leaves her alone again. Back to her solitude, vigilantly waiting for a boy who may never come back to her.

Charlie’s already thinking about the future, next year, and she’s still caught in last week. Wondering if she’ll ever get to move past this frozen state of mind, but imagining it’ll be near impossible without him being there with her.

Gently, she reaches out and takes his hand laying on the blankets. It’s colder than usual, than it should be, and she decides she’s going to have to hold it a lot more to make sure he retains his characteristic warmth. To distract herself from the now she allows herself to daydream about the future, the good version where he does wake up and they head into fifth year and everything proceeds as normal.

Well, maybe a little bit different. Now that the idea is in her head, she’s starting to consider what other possibilities lay out there for the two of them.

“Whatever we’ll be,” she murmurs, running her thumb softly across the back of his hand.

* * *

Two days following the official week anniversary of the accident, Riley overhears Madam Pomfrey discussing the possibility of a transfer to St. Mungo’s with Professor McGonagall.

She doesn’t think it’ll happen right away, or any time soon, but the fact that the notion has been seriously brought up at all sends a chill down Riley’s spine. She eavesdrops as they list the potential reasons for making the switch, most notably that him being here in this state may be distressing for other students and it would give him the chance to be somewhere more adept to handle his situation. Where family could be nearby.

Riley doesn’t think they realize that Lucas is more at home here at Hogwarts than he would be anywhere else. She knows his parents don’t give much of a damn about their only son, hence why he showed up to the Hogwarts Express alone first year and didn’t understand how to get through the barrier until her mother explained it to him. It’s the reason he had to defer a year, as his father destroyed his first letter and hasn’t spent a dime trying to keep up with him since he left. It’s why he spends summers and holidays house-hopping as much as he can, spending as much time with his friends in a time that’s supposed to be joyful as he possibly can.

He’s already with family. His family is here, Maya and Zay and Smackle. His teammates on the Gryffindor team, his friends from the dormitory. Riley herself, who will protest the transfer with everything she’s got in her if necessary. If she has to stage a student protest, she’ll figure out a way.

Otherwise, business continues on as normal. She spends an increasingly disproportionate amount of time in the hospital wing, practically a resident herself. Madam Pomfrey stops making her leave when the wing closes for the night, knowing well enough that she’ll help herself out when she’s ready and that she always locks the door securely. To make up for it, Riley starts helping tend to sick students when Madam Pomfrey requires it. It’s the least she can do, and she doesn’t mind the work.

Riley finds herself dozing off more than a couple times by his bedside, Josh being the one to wake her up both times it happens. He’s always bringing her a pick-me-up from the Great Hall or a butterbeer straight from Hogsmeade, doing homework with her to keep her company.

She’s grateful for the courtesy, especially considering Josh feels like the only person with whom she can discuss the full extent of her feelings for Lucas as she unpacks them. He always listens without judgment, and rather than telling her what he thinks she should do, he guides her through questions that help her figure out decisions for herself.

All she knows by the time they’re nearing on ten days since the accident is that nothing about her feelings for Lucas Friar are simple. She’s been convincing herself they’re just friends for so long, finally acknowledging that the opposite might be true seems like a groundbreaking revelation. One shocking enough to wake him from his slumber, if only he were conscious to hear her mutter it in the nights where she’s the only one still around.

That night, Riley is surprised when Madam Pomfrey comes to say goodnight and brings her a piping cup of hot chocolate. She takes it delicately, smiling bashfully. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“Sure I did,” Poppy states, waving her off gently. “Amount of time you spend here, helping me out. It’s the least I could do.”

Riley beams, taking a sip of the warm beverage. Both of them linger in the silence, watching Lucas rest so reliably. Clearly taking his time enjoying the dreamscape, whatever it’s like.

“Is it true,” Riley murmurs, taking another sip before looking up at the nurse. “Are they going to send him to Mungo’s?”

Madam Pomfrey gives her a sympathetic look, clasping her hands together in front of her. “I don’t know, dear. Not any time soon, certainly. But if his conditions continues to remain the same…”

Riley nods, not needing any further explanation. She figures ignorance is bliss in the case of the ticking clock that seems to have appeared over them.

“Make sure to lock up,” Poppy requests, giving her one more tired smile before heading to her office to retire for the evening.

Riley watches her go, taking another long drink of the hot chocolate before setting it on the nightstand. She glances towards the tray table at the end of his bed, at the assembly of coursework, candy, and other well wishes that have accumulated over the last week and a half.

Sighing, she lets her gaze drift to him.

“You know, so many people have come by to see you,” she says softly, scooting her chair closer to his cot. She pulls her legs up onto the chair and wraps her arms around them, propping her chin on her knees. “I wish you would wake up just so you could see them. You’d never believe so many people care about you, even if I tell you later. You’re so stubbornly humble that way.”

Naturally, he doesn’t respond. Although it’s been painful, seeing him so unresponsive for so many days straight, she has to admit how lovely it is to see his expression so relaxed. She supposes if anything good comes of this, it’ll be that he’s finally gotten to rest as much as he deserves.

Riley tilts her head, an ache forming in her chest when she realizes how much she misses him. Not simply his physical being, considering she’s spent all ten days with that an abnormal amount, but his actual presence. His soft green eyes and his silly grin and the musically familiar sound of his voice.

All the time in the hospital wing, it seems she’s developed an illness of her own. The distinctly sickening sensation of having him so close, yet so impossibly far away.

“They’re talking about sending you to Mungo’s,” she whispers, still harboring that irrational fear that speaking such things aloud might will them into existence. She swallows, trying to keep her voice even. “I understand why they’re considering it, but it wouldn’t be the right choice. I know it wouldn’t. Because I know you. You’d want to be here.”

She sighs, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to her knee.

“I want you here.”

The silence feels heavier than usual tonight. She misses the way silence used to be between them, a rare sort of comfortable quiet she’s never been able to replicate with anyone else.

Lifting her head again, she gazes at him before dropping her feet back onto the floor. She leans forward on her elbows against the mattress, taking his hand in hers.

“I need you to show them that you don’t need to be transferred,” she says, enveloping his hand in both of hers. She blinks the fresh tears out of her eyes, willing herself to be stronger than she is. Hoping maybe some of that resolve will transform into power for him to use to come back to her. “I need you to wake up so that they don’t take you away.”

Riley knows it’s not going to do any good. All of her pleading isn’t going to make a difference at the end of the day. Still, maybe it will do the reverse of her greatest fear—maybe, if she says it enough, she can will it into reality.

She lets her chin rest against his hand in hers, lightly pressing her lips to his knuckles.

“Whatever happens next, I want you to be here.”

It strikes her how exhausted she is. All of this emotional labor over such an extended period of time, it’s a wonder she’s not currently occupying a cot of her own. Considering how little sleep she gets back at the dormitory, it should be much worse.

Riley scoots as close as she can get, leaning forward and resting her head on his torso. She brings his hand to drape around her shoulders so she won’t accidentally hurt it by laying on top of it, linking their fingers together and releasing a sigh. After a few moments of the increasingly familiar ambience of the hospital wing quiet, she lets her eyes flutter closed.

There’s nowhere else she’d rather be. That much she knows.

* * *

“Riley?”

At first, she thinks she’s dreaming. The voice is enough to startle her awake, but she’s still pointedly drowsy and half-asleep. Sun is filtering in through the curtains of the windows, letting in daylight and indicating she’s been dozing off here far longer than she anticipated.

She had to have made it up. It’s wishful thinking, the kind of stuff only her dreams could promise.

Then, she feels the gentle movement of his arm on her shoulder, nudging her. She blinks wide awake, holding her breath out of nerves and waiting for the other shoe to drop that’ll inevitably snap her out of this dream.

Instead, she hears it again. That voice, her favorite voice in the world.

“Riley.”

She pushes herself onto her elbows, hair disheveled and muscles aching from laying in such an awkward position for so many hours. Not sure she’ll believe what she sees, she whips her head to face him.

She’s not dreaming. It’s those green eyes, dizzyingly pretty, gazing back at her like he can’t believe she’s there. Like he’s the one who should be surprised.

When she exhales, she feels like she’s releasing the weight of the world. “Lucas.”

“Hi.”

“Merlin’s beard!” she exclaims breathlessly, reaching forward and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. She places a frantic kiss to the side of his head, already feeling tears slip down her cheeks. A strangled laugh conveys just how overwhelmed with emotion she feels from the sound of his voice. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

“Yeah,” he says weakly, wincing at the tightness of her embrace. “Ouch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says apologetically, pulling back from the hug and giggling in spite of herself. It’s such a relief to see his smile, tired as it might be. She can’t bring herself to let go of him, keeping a hand on his shoulder and resisting the urge to pinch him so she knows he’s real. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

He hums uncertainly, closing his eyes and scrunching his face. It has to be the cutest thing in the whole wizarding world, considering how it makes her chest tighten. “Sore. Feel like I haven’t moved in days.”

If he only knew. If he only had a clue.

“What happened?” He looks to her expectantly, expression a combination of nerves and curiosity. She doesn’t even know where to begin. “What happened with the game? Did we win?”

She doesn’t want to talk about Quidditch right now. She doesn’t want to talk about anything. She just wants to revel in the fact that he’s alive—that he’s alive and he’s going to be okay and he’s back with her. Everything else can wait.

“Let’s just wait until Madam Pomfrey wakes up, okay? She’ll fill you in with everything you need to know, I promise.”

“Okay,” he say agreeably, clearly not up for being stubborn.

Riley can’t help but grin, putting aside her hesitancy to reach forward and fix his hair. Somehow the touch becomes a gentle caress, softly brushing her thumb against his cheekbone.

She can’t believe he’s back. She’s so grateful he’s okay.

“How are you even in here before she’s up anyway?” he asks, reclining back deeper into his pillow and fidgeting restlessly. It’s so nice to see that fidgeting again. He doesn’t question her touch on his face. “I thought visitors weren’t allowed this early.”

“Well, I’ve never been quite like everybody else, have I?” she says vaguely, preferring to keep things simple while it lasts.

Lucas narrows his eyes at her, playfully making a show of thinking about it. “Nope. Definitely not.”

She continues to talk with him in soft voices, keeping him awake until Madam Pomfrey arrives to the pleasant surprise of his renewed consciousness about an hour or so later. This launches them back into the real world, full of plans on what to do next and alerting other friends and beginning the uncomfortable discussions of what he’s missed and what he has to make up and all the unfortunate decisions that have unfolded in his absence.

She’s going to be there for all of it. Every step of the way, she’s not planning to leave his side. She’s done a damn good job of it so far, and if she’s realized anything over the last ten days it’s that she’s done taking what she has for granted. She’s always loved him, treated him as best as she knew how and cherished his friendship, but now she’s ready to admit she might want more than that.

It’s all things to explore in the future, which is once again theirs to explore. Whatever they’ll be.


End file.
